In Our Bedroom After The War
by liam22
Summary: Sylar/Claire Future Fic. Since when is he the one who is supposed to be saving the cheerleader.


**Title**: In Our Bedroom After the War  
**Rating:** Mature(18+)  
**Fandom:** Heroes  
**Characters**: Sylar/Claire  
**Prompt:** Evil Night Together for 15songtitles  
**Summary:** Since when is he the one who is supposed to be saving the cheerleader. Future-fic (and yes, Claire is over 18)  
**Beta:** cheap valentine was absolutely amazing when betaing this for me.  
**A/N:** Written for sideways at the sylar/claire ficathon, who wanted general badassery, such as amazing plot twist in which Claire works with Sylar just doing things that could definitely be seen as morally gray (I'm pretty sure I got this covered.) Smut is optional (ask and you shall receive) and didn't want OOC, incest or cupcakes.

* * *

The explosion takes them all by surprise, but Sylar's always been an opportunist. As the glass shatters, and those sickening gray walls crumble, he finally sees a way out of the cell the Company has been keeping him in for the past year. He moves quickly, dodging a failing ceiling beam. The outside wall of the adjoining cell has completely collapsed; it should be an easy escape.

And it would have been if not for the unconscious body of his fellow captor trapped underneath the debris. She's the only other one being held in this part of the building with him and through glass walls he spent the last year watching her get tortured in every possible way. He didn't want to think what would happen to her if he just left her there.

The alarms are blaring and he can hear the shouts and racing footsteps. If he wants to get her out, he doesn't have much time. Without his telekinesis, the beam is heavy and hard to move. The footsteps are getting closer. He gives her one last, hard yank and she's free from the rubble.

He slips away into the dark of night with the girl thrown over his shoulder and runs. He looks over at her, surprised that she hadn't woken up before now, but he can't afford to slow down to find out why. The forest surrounding the facility wouldn't be a good cover come morning, and he really has no idea where they are.

It feels like he's been running for hours, when he finally finds a little motel on the side of the road. He doesn't have any money to rent a room, but there's no way they can go any farther tonight. Around the corner, there is a man coming back from the ice machine with an expensive looking watch. He'll have to do.

Sylar sets the girl down, taking care to hide her in the shadows, and goes off to stalk his prey. The man with the ice bucket couldn't have been anymore oblivious as his head was smashed in and he body was hid behind a vending machine. He grabs the room key, watch and ice bucket, before throwing the girl over his shoulder once more and heading to the man's room.

Once inside, he lays the girl on the bed, before looking around. It's kind of dingy, but it's not grey and glass, and there's a bed. He hasn't had the luxury of one of those in a while. There's a wallet filled with twenties on the nightstand, and car keys on top of the TV. Oh look, snacks.

_Focus Sylar. What are you going to do about her?_

He ponders it for a minute, taking her power. She would never know. His finger rises, tracing a line across her forehead, before reaching back and pulling out the jagged piece of glass. He can't kill her; not the girl who spent the last year in shared captivity with him giving all of their captors lewd nicknames and back stories.

Goddamnit. Since when is he the one that is supposed to be saving the cheerleader. Right fine time to suddenly regain a conscious, if you ask him.

* * *

He wakes up the next morning with the strange sensation of being oddly comfortable.

It seemed that Claire had migrated from her side of the double bed during the night. Her soft curves fit just right against him. She is clutching at his shirt, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She's all blond hair spread across his chest and the sweet smell of just her that even months at the company hadn't been able to erase.

He tries to ignore that what they were doing could technically be considered cuddling. Why was she curling closer, and not running away? No one wanted to get closer to him. As Gabriel, he was ignored, and as Sylar, he only got this close to someone when he was killing them.

Was she actually trying to gain comfort from him? It boggled his mind.

She nuzzled in closer and he did the only thing he could think of, wrapping his arms right back around her. At least it stopped her from wiggling around as much.

"Sylar?" Her sleep tinged voice breaks his inner monologue and he's torn between trying to repair his dignity by pushing her away and staying in the comfort of her embrace. He wants to stay, he really does, but there is no way this can end well. Ignoring her little whine of protest, he rolls out for under her and heads to the bathroom.

"What's the plan? What are we going to do next?" _We? _From the bathroom mirror, he can see her stretching against the sheets, trying to rid herself of the last vestiges of sleep. He has to bite back a groan. _Don't go there,_ he warns himself.

"I can drop you off wherever you want." Surely, one of her fathers has to be missing her by now.

"And what about you? You're going after the Company, aren't you?"

"Yes." It's simple. He's getting revenge. All the cuddling with her in the world would not be able to talk him out of it.

"I'm going with you."

"Claire…" It's said as a warning. She should be back working on her cheers and splits, not planning a major takedown.

"No. I need to do this. People keep telling me that it's not my fight, but it is." Her hands are on her hips, pulling her shirt tight against her chest, and she's staring him down with wide, angry eyes and sleep tousled hair. Unfortunately for her, she looks more cute than menacing. "I'm not useless. If anyone would understand, I thought it would have been you."

Damn, she had to go there, didn't she? Well, maybe, an extra set of hands wouldn't be all that bad.

"Fine. But let's grab some breakfast before you go all Drill Sergeant Barbie on me."

* * *

Over muffins and orange juice at the diner next door, she asks the question he's been dreading all morning. "Have you're powers come back yet?"

"No." He growls.

"Why not? Whatever the company has given you should have worn off by now, right?"

"I don't know. There might…there might be something else wrong." He finally looks up from his juice at her slight gasp.

"You mean, you think they gave you the virus."

"It wouldn't be the first time," he says darkly.

"We have to go back."

"What?" _No. Sorry, dear. Not happening._

"Back to the facility. That's where they kept the antidote. Maybe some survived the explosion."

"Are you crazy? We can't go back. They'll catch us." There was no way he was going to spend any more time in a cell. There had to be some other way to get the antidote.

"Fine. Then you stay here. I'll go get it for you." She plops the rest of her muffin in her mouth and is headed out the door before he can finish gawking at her.

"Fuck… Claire…" He tosses a few ones on the table to cover the tip and races out after her. This is so not a good start to their partnership.

* * *

The remains of the company facility lay in ruins, the last of the fires gone out hours before. Two feet of sickly colored water covers the ground. Neither wants to know where it all came from. Or why the company members floating in it were all wearing biohazard suits.

They sneak in the same way they got out. For a second, a strange feeling of nostalgia hits him. He remembers the first time she was brought in to this very cell. They used her to taunt him, she was the pretty play thing he couldn't have. He wonders if they knew that somewhere along the line it became less about getting her power and more about getting her to smile again. _And in related news, hell has frozen over._ He really needed to get his powers back before her turned completely soft.

"Here, put this on," he says, handing her a suit. Claire tries to hide her look of disgust, but doesn't complain. He climbs into his and together they make their way through the muck. _What the hell happened here?_

It takes awhile to get to the end of the hallway where the main office is, but it seems that no one is alive to care. Claire rifles through all the salvageable files, pulling a few here and there. Words jump out at her and everything stops making sense. She stares at one file, their names written on it together.

_Subjects progressing according to plan. Ready for next stage of Scorpion._

"I've got it. Let's go." He makes it to the door before realizing she wasn't behind him. "Claire. Claire." He's practically shouting and it breaks her out of her trance. The file slips between her fingers, only to be eaten up by the water and she wants nothing more of this cursed place.

They rush back to the car, the antidote vial clutched firmly in his fist. He makes her drive; there was no way he could concentrate on the road right now, not with being so close to getting everything he worked for back. He rolls up his sleeve and sticks in the needle. The rush of power is almost instant.

"Some of the Company's records survived the explosion, "She says later, breaking the companionable silence.

"I'm assuming you took care of that."

"Duh. I also found a list of other facilities when I was rooting around. " She hands it to him, pauses and then gives him a quick glance before continuing. "They had records on us. Really detailed records. They kept referring to this Project Scorpion, but I couldn't figure out what it was."

He doesn't tell her he knows; doesn't tell her that before he was captured, he was looking into it. Scorpion: code name for a project to breed an army of specials that would destroy and replace all non-special humans. They were probably planning to use Claire and him as the Adam and Eve of this new civilization. The details of the plan turned his stomach. He may be a heartless serial killer, but even he has limits.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure the explosion put a real damper on things."

Later, at a rest stop, he celebrates the return of his powers by lifting the wallet of some rich businessman, telekinetically of course, while Claire was getting gas. He smirks as a few bags of snacks and a couple bottles of soda fly into his hands. It'd never felt so good to be back.

"I'm driving," is all he says as he hands to bag of snacks to her and replaces the gas nozzle.

"You know, I never thanked you for saving me." He gives a non-committal groan in response. He doesn't save people; he's not the hero. As she slides past him to enter the car, pausing briefly to give him a peck on the cheek, he thinks about reconsidering that stance. But only for a second.

* * *

Another motel room with only one bed. Another night of waking with her in his arms. If he isn't careful, he's going to get used to this.

He shifts at her whimper and realizes where his hands were. One hand was resting on top of her silky panties, his thumb slid under the elastic, while the other cups her breast, her nipple hard against his palm. Great, the first time he gets to second is with the unconscious daughter of his arch-nemesis.

He pulls away as if he's been burned. Perhaps he has. He can still feel her on his skin.

He thinks the worst part is that she's completely oblivious. Always touching him, and walking around in his shirts. Didn't her mother teach her what these kinds of things do to a man?

"Get up, baby doll. We've got a train to catch." He tries to ignore the fact that her shirt's risen higher. _She's still a kid. _It repeats like a mantra in his head. It's one more line he refuses to cross. Especially since he knows that all sorts of Company plans hinged on him crossing it. _She's still a kid._

"I so get first dibs on the bathroom this morning." He just shrugs in agreement and hopes she locks the door. Images of her naked and wet from her shower are definitely not helping right now.

"Sylar…" He looks up at the warning tone in her voice, and then wishes he hadn't, as the image of her wrapped in only a small towel is burned into his brain. "There is a dead man in the shower. A bloody dead man." _Whoops, forgot about him._

"Claire, meet Lionel Stooges, Company Middle Man. How else did you think we could afford this place?"

"I know, but you couldn't have found a better place to dispose of the body. I haven't had a shower in days."

Sylar just scoffs. _Women._

* * *

Thanks to Eden, it's easy enough for him to talk their way onto the train. The few people on board don't look up as they make their way to their compartment in the back. A man in a black suit catches his eye. _Awh, his favorite paper salesman. _

He ducks his head, hiding Claire's body with his own, and tries to get her to move faster. It wouldn't be good to be caught this early. She somehow remains oblivious to the whole thing. _That's something we'll need to work on._ He shoves her into their compartment, quickly shutting the door behind them. He ignores her glares and tries to determine if they were being followed.

"Ah, home sweet home, " She says, ignoring his glare this time. Claire gives a twirl and flops down one on of the benches.

"Stay here and don't get into trouble," he replies, looking down at her. She rolls her eyes and goes back to flipping through a magazine left on the seat. He leaves her there, thinking briefly of melting the door handle behind him, so she couldn't go anywhere. But that wouldn't make for a quick escape. He has a bad feeling that they were going to need one.

Somewhere on this train was a fire-started. He wasn't leaving without that particular gem. No matter which company member was on this train. He makes his way towards the front. A thrill runs up his spine; the paper salesman was no longer in his seat. _Not good._

He gets closer and can hear their conversation as he approaches the engine room.

"He's on the train. You need to get out of here."

"What? How did he find me?" The blond woman rings her hands and bits down on her top lip. The mannerisms are both so familiar. _Yea, now you've really lost it._

"It doesn't matter. You need to leave now," the man replies. The woman turns toward the window and Sylar takes the opportunity to draw the familiar line across her forehead, effectively killing her.

"Sorry friend, she's not going anywhere." The man is frozen in place before he can even more. He looks over his shoulder and sees his dead companion. He takes a breathe, trying to keep calm, and Sylar wants to laugh at his efforts. _Not so brave now, Bennet, huh. _

Sylar can practically taste the moment the man remembers the other blond. He doesn't know how anyone could forget about her.

"Where is she? What did you do to her?" Sylar sneers at the desperate tone in the man's voice.

"Nothing worse than what you let them do to her."

"It wasn't my choice. I couldn't stop them."

"Well, I'm going to. Does that make me a better man than you Bennet? Claire-Bear's always had a thing for heroes, you know."

"If you touch her…"

"What makes you think I haven't already? What makes you think she didn't want me too? That was the plan, wasn't it?" He lets Bennet ponder that thought for a minute, loving the idea that it would be his last thought. Sylar snaps his neck with a satisfying crunch. Claire would never have to know.

He takes the power from the blond quickly; he's already left Claire alone for too long. He grabs the forgotten briefcase and starts riffling through the files. Project Scorpion. He can't control his anger as the words jump out at him. How could Bennet not fight this? If it was _his _little girl…_don't go there._

But, he can't help it. His anger grows. No one was going to touch a hair on his Claire's head. No one.

Flames shoot from his hands, catching on the walls and the two dead bodies, before he realized how bad of an idea that really was. He pulls back, but the flames lick higher still. They're no longer under his control. Through the smoke, two more black suits appear. Sylar sends the contents of the overhead compartments in their direction. _Looks like it's time for that exit._

He rushes through the hall, knowing the men are probably right behind him. He mentally throws everything he can in their path. There was no way he was going to let them be captured again. He sees Claire poking her head out of the door at the sound of the commotion. He reaches out and pulls her with him.

"We have to go." He's dragging her out of the compartment before she has time to answer.

"What's going on…Is that smoke?" The men start shooting at them, but Sylar makes sure that none of their bullets even come close to hitting their mark.

"Faster, Claire-Bear. I have no intention of becoming barbequed today." The suits are still close behind them as they reach the end of the train. He yanks open the door, pausing quickly to melt the metal behind them. The wind's whipping her hair around him as they stand pressed together on the exit railing. It feels like a scene right out of a bad action movie.

"On the count of three, we jump. Ok?" She nods, grabbing his hand. "One. Two. Three."

They land on the side of the tracks, tangled up in each other and still holding hands. Claire tosses her head back laughing and he can only look at her like she's crazy.

"Well that was fun," she says once she gets her laughter under control. At his strange look, she brushes a light kiss against his lips and burst out laughing once more.

* * *

He wakes up to the wheezing grate of the broken air conditioner. He really needed to find the kid that could fix things like that. Damn super-hearing.

But his headache is the least of his worries. He's immediately aware that she's sprawled on top of him. Again. Her tee shirt has ridden up in the humid air, her bare thigh is _way_ too close to his groin, and her hand has wandered down in that direction. Yup, just a normal day in Sylar's own personal hell.

He really should have requested separate beds. There was only so many times he can wake up hard, with her wrapped around him, before he cracks and takes what she's unintentionally throwing at him. He removes his hand from her ass (he can't believe he picked up her sleep groping habit) and ignores her whimper of protest. She only cuddles closer, her thigh creeping up until its actually brushing against him.

_Fuck._

It's times like this when he wishes he'd taken out Parkman when he had the chance. Oh what he would give to torture himself with the images of who she was dreaming about right now. Probably some beefy, blond, football player. _She'd never be dreaming of you; she's not that desperate. _

He pushes her off with a sudden burst of anger and stomps off to the bathroom. The water he's splashing on his face does nothing to cool him down. _Don't go there. She's just a kid._

He can't sleep with her. He can't screw this up. He likes her, damn it.

"Why'd you leave?"

He jerks his head up to meet her stare in the mirror. She's a picture of innocence, the sunlight making her sleep-tossed hair look like spun gold. Yet, she had a dangerous glint in her eyes. Passion, lust, he's not used to seeing those looks aimed in his direction.

"Don't you want me?" And her tee-shirt hits the floor.

_Fuck. _

He has her backed up against the counter only seconds later. And then he's kissing her. Not a 'thank you' kiss, or a 'I can't believe we survived that' kiss, but the kind of tongues dueling, soul devouring kiss he's been wanting to give her ever since she first smirked at him through the glass of their cells.

"Do you always ask questions you already know the answer too?"

She leans up and kisses him again, hotter and harder than before. Her hands claw at the muscles in his back and for once, he's glad he only wears boxers to bed. His hands move up from her waist to right below her breasts, not touching them yet.

"Are you sure?" He pulls his mouth away to ask. "There's no going back after this. You need to be sure." She's tugging her panties down as he speaks, so he's pretty sure the words are just for him. Claire reaches for his boxers, but he stops her, turning her around to face the large mirror.

"Don't you see what you do to me, baby doll?" He kisses the pulse point along her neck. Her answer is stuck in her throat and all she can do is tilt her head to the side to allow him better access. More than anything, he wants to mark her, to make her his, but she just heals every time.

"Do you? You're going to watch. I'm going to show you." He leans closer; there was almost no space between them now. He can't help but grind his erection into her soft bottom. At the same time, his hands come to her breasts. He loves how her eyes darken as he traces around the hardened peaks before rolling them in his fingers.

She tips her head back, arching, and pushing her breasts further into his hands. One of her hands reaches up and tangles in the short hair at the back of his neck. She just couldn't get enough contact with him.

He wants to taste her, needs to, in fact. And a hand leaves her breast, trailing down her stomach ever so slowly. He watches her, watching his every move in the mirror. _God that's hot._ She gasps his name, as his fingers tangle in the golden curls on her mound.

"Please," she cries out. It's one of the best sounds he's ever heard. He parts her folds and dips a finger into the wetness. He pulls the finger out, ignoring her protests. He slips it in his mouth and groans; she's sweeter than he ever imagined.

"Please," she cries out again. He lowers his hand back down to her and she gives an appreciative sigh. With a finger, he slowly circles her clit. Her eyes close with the sensation. He pulls away again.

"Oh no, baby doll. I want you to watch." Her eyes are unfocused as they open, but they don't dare to leave his again. He rewards her by thumbing her clit harder. Her whimpers turn into moans, as he pushing a finger inside her. One, then two, curling to find the spot he instinctively knows is there. He moves faster, pumping fingers in and out, until she is breaking apart in his arms.

Her eyes, still locked on his, are the darkest of blue and he knows then that his mother was lying when she told him this act was evil. There is no way this could be wrong, not when Claire is looking at him like that.

Seconds later, he spins her around and lifts her up onto the countertop. She pulls him in for a lazy kiss, that unnamable emotion still swimming in her eyes. She yanks down his boxers and curls her small hand around his cock. She gives him an experimental pump, before bring him to her entrance.

She glances up at him, waiting for…he doesn't know what. He kisses her sweetly and it seems to take away any lingering doubts. He pushes inside her with one smooth stoke. The feel of her warm and wet around his is better than anything he's ever felt. He takes his time, savoring every inch. He plunges in again, and again, the pleasure almost unbearable.

"Harder…god, harder." He complies, hands gripping at her hips with bruising intensity. She moving with him, drawing her nails down his back, and chanting his name. _So close, so very, very close._

One last hard stroke and she's clenching around him, moaning his name. He can't help but follow her into oblivion.

_This is it, _he think, dropping his head to her shoulder,_ I've sold his soul to the devil for the moment I wish could last forever._

* * *

Weeks later, they learn of an underwater lab the Company was using to experiment with cloning. The man behind Project Scorpion was there, at least according to the informant Sylar strangled last week.

He spreads the stolen blueprints in front of them and went over the plan with Claire again. They would get in through the storm drain on the west side of the facility. She was going to take the office, while he destroyed the lab. It's a Sunday, and most of the workers were at home, so they shouldn't have any trouble getting the job done. He would take care of the rest of the employees after Claire went to bed; there are still some things she doesn't need to know about.

"You know, this wasn't the kind of sightseeing I had in mind when you said we were going to Fiji," she says, looking up at him with a smirk.

"Really, cause the view's great from where I stand." He's been trying not to stare at the curves he knows by heart, but it's a losing battle. She's wearing such a tiny bikini. She's lucky they're on a private beach. Otherwise, he'd have to kill anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

He leans over, placing a hand at the small of her back, and prepares to go over the plan one last time. She interrupts him with a quick kiss.

"Let's just do this, alright." He couldn't agree more. They put on their diving gear and Sylar takes the time to double check that she's got everything on right. He frowns at her knowing look. He can't help it; she's his to worry about, after all.

It's easier to get into the facility than Sylar thought. For a moment that worries him. They split up and he takes his worry out on all the high-priced lab equipment in his way. It's such a weak emotion. Everything around him is exploding; shards of glass are flying everywhere. Flames take care of the rest.

Through the commotion, Sylar notices the man who enters at the other side of the lab. He remembers him from their early days of captivity; Claire had named him Ludwig and said he probably spent his time pruning bonsai trees and jacking off to furry porn. Sylar tosses some of the glass Ludwig's way. It pins him to the door like the trapped butterfly he used to make Sylar feel like.

"Why are we fighting like this, Mr. Grey? One would think we would be one the same side." More debris gets thrown at Ludwig.

"The only side I'm on is my own," he snarls. With a jerk of his hand, the lab tables uproot from the floor and go flying towards the other man. "This is over now. You're going to leave us alone." Ludwig cries out in pain, as he's crushed by the tables.

"They're keeping someone in Odessa that you might want." This was always Sylar's favorite part, when they bargained for their life.

"Really." It never helps them, of course. But, that never stops them from trying.

"Adam. It was his plan. I was just following his orders." _Well isn't that interesting. _He rips the man's head off and finishes destroying the lab. It seems like they have one last stop to make. He heads down the hallway to find Claire done with the office.

"Ready to go, baby doll?"

"Took you long enough." She takes his hand and they swim up to the surface.

"So what's next on the list," Claire asks, pulling herself out of the water.

"You're heading home, baby doll."

"I thought the facility in Odessa was destroyed." She gets a dark look on her face and he can't help the twinge of guilt for putting it there. _Damn weak emotions._

"Unfortunately not. I don't have great memories of the place either, you know."

"Well, I guess we'll have to make some them." She's smiling now and he can't help but return it.

"Why Claire Bennet, are you propositioning me?"

"Would you think any less of me if I said yes?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

* * *

"If you don't want to find out if you can live through a car crash, I'd move your hand." She ignores him; popping the button of his jeans and pulling down the zipper instead.

"Are you admitting that there's something you can't do?"

"Unfortunately, I haven't yet met anyone who can concentrate on driving while getting a hand job from a hot blond." If they weren't on a busy interstate highway, he'd be inside her by now.

"Well, then. I think you've been looking for all the wrong powers. Pull over here."

"The truck stop?"

"They've got a car wash."

He drove into the carwash and paid for the most expensive (and time consuming) option. She's straddling him before the doors even close. He barely remembers to shift the car into neutral when he realizes there's nothing separating him from her.

"You know Claire-Bear, good little girls wear underwear."

"I thought you'd appreciate the easy access."

She lowers herself onto him in one hard stroke. And then they're rocking in time to the scrubbers running foam over the car. Back and forth, hard and harder. He tweaks her nipples through her shirt, not even bothering to be gentle. There will be time for that later.

She's moaning his name, and only gets louder as she arches against him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes the high-pressure washers drown out the sound. He doesn't want anyone to hear her like this.

He's losing his rhythm. So close, so close. He reaches down and gives her clit one hard stroke. Then, she's clenching around him, head thrown back in a silent scream, and he can't help but join her. It's just in time too, because the drying device turns on. She climbs off his lap with shaky legs just as they pass the final curtain.

She tips her head back against the seat, sending him a satisfied smile. He just shakes his head in return. Sometimes, he thinks she wants to be caught. What's the point in screwing the bad boy if no one was ever going to find out?

* * *

He keeps catalog of all the things he knows about her: how she hates pickles, or how she always wanted to be a firefighter when she was a little girl and how she never really believed in fairytales. He knows how smooth her legs feel against his when she cuddles up against him in her sleep, or how she always smells of the Black Raspberry Vanilla body lotion, she coats herself with after she showers. He knows how she sounds when she laughs, and when she cries, and when she comes.

She hardly ever swears and blushes a pretty shad of pink when he catches her that one time. She avoids stepping on cracks, just in case, she always says. She likes to people watch when they're in public and always over-tips their waitress. They're habits he's picking up too.

He knows she can't fold a map to save her life and her sense of direction is just as bad. She's since been relieved of navigation duty after they somehow ended up in the middle of Pennsylvania trying to find the Jersey shore. Every car he steals after that has a GPS unit. Once in a while, he'll let her drive, but only when he's too tired to care that she's never met a speed limit she hasn't broken.

He won't let her touch the radio either, but she doesn't mid too much, just singing along softly to artist dead long before she was born and tapping her painted toes against the dashboard. She has no appreciation for good music and only laughs at his tape collection. She tries to convince him of the wonders of the iPod, as if it's the greatest thing since sliced bread (or since he found out what he could really do), but he has way too much fun arguing with her about it to actually give in.

He knows she likes him in blue and exactly how to make her smile. He knows they share a love of Hemingway and Hawthorne, and both think Poe is overrated. The both like their coffee black and their sandwiches cut diagonally. But he knows that it's not enough to build a relationship on.

He tells her things about himself. It's not like there is anything else for them to fill up the miles with. She listens raptly as he recounts his days as a watchmaker or memories of his mother. She seems to take in every word, like it's a special gift given just to her. He tells her he's never been on a date before, which she seems to find a major injustice. At their next stop, she drags him out bowling, and then for ice cream. She gives him a peck at the door of their motel room, but those kinds of innocent touches are no longer enough for either of them. As she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, she tell him she wishes they could have met earlier, before this all happened. They would have been great friends. He just scoffs, and thinks it's useless to contradict her. Nobody was friends with Gabriel.

He wishes he knew what she sees in him when she's looking at him with such affection. It's times like that when all he can think about is adding the fact that he just might love her to the list of things he knows. Maybe when this was all over they could settle down somewhere with a lot of sun, maybe the beach. They could have the family he's kind of always wanted and they could get a dog, a mutt from the pound instead of another pretentious show dog. She'd like that.

It's times like that when he thinks she really is right about not eating Mexican that close to bedtime. It really does mess with your mind.

* * *

"So this is it huh," she asked. Revenge had been got. The Company's plan destroyed. The fight was over and he'd gotten to play hero for a little while. So why wasn't he happy? Why couldn't he shake that sinking feeling that the other shoe was about to drop?

"Well, I for one am glad you're done playing Sydney Bristow. Saving your ass gets tiring after a while."

"Hey, I did a bunch of ass saving too."

"If you insist. So where to, baby-doll?"

"How about we go to Hawaii. I hear the beaches are beautiful this time of year." Again with this 'we' stuff; he could really get used to that.

"I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to see you in a bikini again."

Maybe it's only fair that he gets to keep her; he did save the cheerleader after all.


End file.
